A/N: And here we have chapter 4. Thank you so much to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed! I really appreciate your interest and your feedback.
There's not much to say about this one except that things start to get rolling. We finally meet Norrington and Molly suffers from her 'little bump on the head'. I personally have never had a concussion so I have no idea if Molly's symptoms are accurate. I got all my information from Wikihow and the WebMD. This chapter was a bit difficult to write. I wasn't sure how I wanted to portray Norrington and how his affection for Molly ran. I knew that I wanted him to be fond of her, but I wasn't sure how that fondness would manifest itself. They weren't friends like Molly, Elizabeth, and Will, but there's is a kind of bond between them that stems from Molly's childhood years playing around the docks.
Also, the tail end of this chapter was hard to get right. It kind of lulled for a bit, and I wasn't sure where I wanted to end it. I'm pretty much just iffy about this chapter over all so... yeah.
Anyway, thanks again guys and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Where We Will (We'll Roam)
A Bump on the Head
A bright light and a sharp pain in her head finally dragged Molly back to the land of the living. She heard heavy footsteps and people talking around her. Something soft brushed her forehead gently and she flinched back as the pain pulsed through her skull.
Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked in the bright morning light. Commodore James Norrington hovered over her, his handsome features thrown into sharp relief by the harsh rays of the sun filtering through the dining room windows. He hand was at her forehead, holding something soft to her hairline. She felt something warm crusted on her cheek.
James looked up and spoke firmly to someone in the doorway, "Call the Doctor. Tell him that I sent for him and that it is urgent." He looked back down at Molly and spoke to her softly, but just as firmly, "Miss MacTully, where is Miss Swann? Can you remember anything about what happen last night?"
And just like that, the events of the previous night came flooding back. A cold sweat broke on her forehead and her heart hammered in her chest.
Molly snatched the Commodore's hand, using it to pull herself upright, pale green eyes blown wide, searching for the silver cabinet. It was wide open and empty. "Elizabeth!"
James shushed her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Cap'n, they've taken 'er." She gasped, her other hand coming up to grip his jacket sleeve, "They kidnapped Eliz'beth!"
"I know." He said. His voice was as firm and collected as ever, but his blue eyes were wide, filled with a kind of emotion that Molly had never seen before. He was frightened. The seemingly unshakable Captain from her youth was frightened. Molly's breathing turned quick and shallow, her heart jumped to her throat.
"Miss MacTully," He said, but when she would not calm down he lowered his voice, "Molly." Her grip on his hand turned her knuckles white.
The Commodore continued in the same soft tone, "Molly, you must calm yourself. You've been hurt, you must stay still. I need you to tell me what happened last night."
Molly blinked at him, before bringing a hand up to her forehead to probe the bleeding wound along her hairline. The tips of her fingers came away stained red and she frowned, as if the very sight of her own blood baffled her.
"He hit me," she said, sounding surprised.
"Commodore," He looked up. Gillette stood in the doorway of the dining room with a spindly, grey haired man.
"Doctor," James said, waving the name over with two fingers. Dr. Vance stepped forward, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his beak-like nose, placing his medical bag on the floor and kneeling at Molly side.
"What seems to be the problem here, Commodore?" Vance asked even as he eyed the wound on Molly's forehead critically. "You know, we have an entire port full of people suffering with injuries far more severe than a simple head wound."
"Miss MacTully has sustained a severe blow to the head," James told him. He picked up the bed warmer from the floor. The edge of the pan was dented where it had hit her and drops of her blood stained the metal. James grimaced, "with this."
Dr. Vance looked at the bed warmer over the frames on his glasses and then back to Molly, "Miss MacTully, can you tell me your full name please?"
Molly blinked at him and frowned at James, "Cap'n I'm fine. We need to look for Eliz'beth."
Dr. Vance turned her head towards him and tilted it up with two fingers, "Miss MacTully, it is Commodore Norrington now, do you remember?"
Molly made a face and jerked her head back. She winced as the movement sent a sharp pain through her forehead.
"Yes, I remember," she snapped, her voice rising, "and it seems to me that Commodore Norrington should b'less worried 'bout a little bump on th'head and more worried 'bout Miss Swann, seein' a'she's been kidnapped by pirates!"
"That's enough, Miss MacTully," The Commodore said, sharply, "rest assured I am doing all that I can to ensure Miss Swann's safe return, but seeing as you were the last person to be in her company before she was kidnapped it would seem that you are the key to finding her."
Molly opened her mouth to respond but her outburst had drained the last of her energy reserves. Her head swam and she swayed precariously where she sat. Norrington placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her and Dr. Vance made a noise of confirmation in the back of his throat and nodded.
"Miss MacTully you are currently suffering from a concussion." He said, opening his bag and pulling out a small brown bottle and a clean cloth, and set to work with cool efficiency.
He cleaned and dressed the wound with quick, practiced movements, using a strong smelling liquid from the bottle. The Doctor dabbed at her hairline with the cloth and Molly hissed, jerking her head out of his hands. Her head throbbed again in addition to the stinging on her forehead and she winced. Dr. Vance said nothing, but she saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as he waited for her to recover and place her head gingerly back into his hands.
When he finished, tying off the bandage just above her ear, he put all his supplies back into his medical bag and stood. He turned to Norrington, "Commodore, I am placing Miss MacTully under your supervision. See to it that she rests and that she avoids any kind of physical or mental exertion for the time being. Now, if you'll both excuse me I have an entire town of patients to see too."
He bowed curtly and strode out of the room.
James sighed, "Always a pleasure, Doctor." He turned to Molly, "Miss MacTully can you stand?"
If she hadn't been concussed, Molly would have shot him with a smart remark, but all she could do was nod weakly. The Commodore wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her gently to her feet. Molly leaned against him heavily as the ground tilted beneath her feet and James waited patiently for her to right herself.
She mumbled her thanks as her head stopped spinning, and once her feet were steady she allowed herself to be led out of the governor's house. In the remains of the foyer Miss Sarah and what was left of the staff were huddled at the foot of the stairs. Miss Sarah wailed into her dirty handkerchief as a pair of soldiers carried the limp body of Old Toby out of the kitchens.
Molly paled and her steps faltered. There was a bright red stain on the front of his shirt and his round face was covered in ugly purple bruises. The Commodore's arm around her shoulders tightened and he steered her away from the sight, hurrying her out the door.
He led her through the town and up to the fort, but as much as he tried to shield her from the aftermath of the raid Molly saw enough to make her stomach churn. The bodies of those who hadn't survived were strewn across the ground, broken and bloodied. Those who had survived were bruised and battered, struggling to gather the shattered remains of their lives.
A stab of fear shot through her as Molly scanned the dirty faces of the survivors. Where was her mother? Did she survive the attack? She pulled weakly on the labels of the Commodore's coat as images of her mother's body, limp like Old Toby, flashed across her mind.
"Cap'n," she said, her words slow and slurred, "M'mother, is she-"
James shook his head, "Mrs. MacTully is assisting the nuns in the task of helping the injured in the Church."
Molly nodded. Her mother was alright. The knowledge gave her strength, and she managed to walk the rest of the way to the fort without leaning on the Commodore and he let his arm drop from her shoulders to the small of her back, hovering close in case she should falter again.
Like the rest of Port Royal, Fort Charles had not made it through the raid unscathed. Soldiers were busy with the repairs, buzzing around the fort like bees in a hive as their commanding officers shouted orders at them. Segments of the parapet walls had caved in and the gun deck was littered with cannon holes. A chunk of the sentry tower was missing and the Commodore's office had been reduced to rubble.
"They blew up y'r new office 'fore y' even got a chance to use it." Molly said. There was something terribly ironic about it that nearly sent Molly into hysterics and she wasn't sure if it was from rage or hilarity. The Commodore said nothing, leading her to that far side of the fort that was still intact.
Governor Swann was waiting for them, pacing nervously around a table covered in maps. When he caught sight of Molly walking alongside the Commodore he stopped his pacing and rushed forward.
"Did you see her? Did you see my daughter?" He asked her. The Governor looked in no better condition than the fort. His wig and his hat were still pinned in place, but his face was covered in sweat and dust. His suit was stained and there was a tear at the seam of the shoulder. Miss Sarah was going to have a fit when she saw him.
"Miss MacTully claims that the pirates have taken Elizabeth hostage," the Commodore answered briskly before Molly could start to formulate a response. "Mr. Mullroy fetch a chair." He said, striding around the table and taking off his hat. He tossed it next to the inkpot and placed his hands on either side of the map, leaning on the edge.
Molly watched his shoulder's slump ever so slightly, sagging under some invisible weight, and she realized suddenly that the Commodore might be just as distraught over Elizabeth's kidnapping. The thought made something tighten in her chest.
In the eight years since his assignment to Port Royal, James Norrington had only ever been the end of her childhood games. He was a marble statue, tall and unmoving, with a specific array of expressions, including but not limited to: exasperation, annoyance, frustration, and irritation all directed towards her. Distressed was something Molly had never even fathomed she would see arranged across his noble features.
Mullroy returned with a chair and set it down next to her. Molly nodded distractedly and sat down.
"Miss MacTully," the Commodore began, looking at her from across the table, schooling his expression to one of stern determination, "can you remember anything that happened last night?"
"They were after 'er," Molly said slowly, trying to think through the dull ache in her head, "I was in the kitchen when they broke in. Old Tob-," she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as the image of Old Toby's lifeless body came into her mind. She took a steadying breath to calm herself and forced his name past her lips, "Old Toby heard them comin' and I tried t'go back. But they came in through the front, so I went back up the old servant's stairs.
"We tried t'get to the front door but they cut us off at the stairs." Molly squinted at the dull gray stone of the fort as she spoke as the memory of the previous night flashed through her head, "They chased us int' the dining room and I told her to hide'n the silver cab'net," she looked at the Commodore, "I told 'er not t'come out, I could 'ave taken them."
"What you could have done is irrelevant now, Miss MacTully," he said. "Continue."
Molly bit her lip against the retort that bubbled in her throat, but did as she was told, "I fought 'em off. I disarmed one an' hit the other one 'n the nose, but the short one grabbed the bed warmer and swung me into th'table." The edge of the bandage tickled her temples and she itched it absently, "Eliz'beth jumped out and demanded 'Parley' for herself and me. I didn' say it though," Molly shook her head, still pulling on the edge of her bandage, "so they hit me and took her."
The Governor gasped, covering his mouth with a torn handkerchief, and turned away from them. He scanned the horizon, as if he could bring his daughter back with the strength of his gaze alone.
"Cap'n, there's somethin' else," Molly looked up at the Commodore, her eyes wide. "They said she 'ad somethin' o'theirs."
Norrington frowned, "What-," but he didn't finish. Will sprinted up to the fort, looking harassed and disheveled but otherwise unharmed, a hatchet held loosely in his hand.
Molly stood and rushed towards him, "Will-," but he strode past her.
"They've taken her," He panted, looking at them all frantically, "they've taken Elizabeth."
James glared at him, "Mr. Murtogg, remove this man."
Murtogg stepped forward and made to grab his arm, but Will shook him off, unconcerned, "We have to track them down, we must save her."
The Governor rounded on him, "And where do you propose we start? If you have any information concerning my daughter, please share it."
"That Jack Sparrow," Mullroy interrupted, "he talked about the Black Pearl. Maybe-,"
Murtogg made a noise of disagreement, "Mentioned it, is more what he did, sir."
Will glanced between them and back to the Commodore, "Ask him where it is, then." He stepped towards the table, his tone urgent, "Make a deal with him. He could lead us to it."
"No, the pirates who invaded the prison left Sparrow locked in his cell, ergo they are not his allies," The Commodore turned back to Molly, effectively dismissing Will with a turn of his head, "Miss MacTully, what did they say she had?"
Will seethed, his face flushed. He swung the hatchet and buried it into the table. "That's not good enough." He roared.
The Commodore regarded the hatchet calmly for a moment, before pulling it out of the table with a sigh, "Mr. Turner," He swept around the table, "you are not a military man, you are not a sailor." He took Will by the arm and led him away from the table, "You are a blacksmith," he said sharply, pressing the hatchet into his chest. "This is not the moment for rash action." He lowered his voice and murmured something to him before shoving him forward towards the town and going back to his maps. Will glared at his back and she saw the resolve in his eyes. Molly felt something snap back into place inside of her, her spine straightened and the fear leaked out of her shoulders. Will spun on his heels and stormed out of the fort.
"Will, wait!" Molly gathered her skirts and took off after him.
"I'm sorry, Molly," he said without breaking stride as she caught up with him, "but I cannot just sit here and do nothing."
"Will," Molly huffed, her breath coming short and her head beginning to ache again. She reached for his shirt sleeve and pulled him to a stop, "just wait a moment."
He stopped and turned to face her, his expression hard and his eyes livid. Molly met his gaze without flinching, jutting out her chin defiantly. His eyes softened when he saw the bandage wrapped around her head.
"You were hurt." His eyebrows knitted together in concern. She grimaced reached up to tug at the bandage, but he caught her wrist. "What happened?"
Molly shrugged him off, "It's nothin'," she said, ignoring the way her head pounded. "It's just a scratch. Will," she grabbed his arm, "the pirate, we have t'act quickly." His expression hardened again, and Molly continued, "The soldiers are all gathered at the fort. There won' be anyone guardin' the prison, we can-,"
"No." Molly blinked at him.
"No?" She said dumbly
Will shook his head, "You need to stay here."
"But I-," She frowned in confusion.
"Molly, you're injured." He said, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, "You have to stay here."
"Will, don't," Molly warned, squeezing her eyes shut at the rising headache and shaking her head weakly.
"I can't lose you as well."
Molly glared up at him, "No, she's my friend too!"
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. "I know." He murmured into her hair, "I will bring her back, Molly. I promise." He squeezed her gently before pulling away and running down the street, disappearing into the crowd.
"Will y' bloody bastard, come back here!" She yelled. She made to run after him, but she only got halfway down the street before she was out of breath and dizzy from the pain in her head. She paused a moment to catch her breath and wait for the headache to pass, leaning against the remains of Mr. Jones' fishing cart, letting the morning sun warm her skin and thinking about what to do next.
She couldn't just sit here and wait around twiddling her thumbs. She needed to help them search for Elizabeth. The short pirate was only too willing to take her to their Captain when she had declared 'Parley', and he had said that she had something of theirs. Molly was willing to bet anything that it was the terrifying medallion Elizabeth had worn around her neck that morning.
Following Will was out of the question. He wouldn't take her along no matter how much she reasoned with him. Molly glanced over her shoulder at the docks were the Interceptor was docked. The Commodore would be setting sail soon, and in his haste to leave a stowaway would be easily over looked.
She looked down at her dress and frowned. She would have to change into something less conspicuous and more sea worthy if she wanted to pass as part of his crew. Her father had left his old cloths behind before he set sail on a merchant ship a few weeks ago. Her mother kept them in the trunk with the rest of their cloths and Molly was sure they would fit her well enough to allow her to pass as one of Norrington' men.
She took a deep, steadying breath and pushed herself off of the cart, muscling through her dizziness, and turned up the street towards the tavern, walking briskly through the crowd despite the pain in her head.
It wasn't a very long walk to the tavern, and the pain in her head had settled into a dull ache by the time she reached it.
Her heart lurched as the Prancing Pony came into view at the end of the street. Her home was in ruins. The sign had fallen loose and crashed through the window. It hung by a single bolt, swinging and creaking pathetically in the broken window. Inside the tables and benches were upended and splintered fragments of wood and shattered glass were scattered across the floor. The air was heavy with the smell of spilled beer and rum.
She didn't give herself any time to ponder the fates of Charlie and the rest of the patrons of the Pony, carefully avoiding the dark stains in the wooden floor, stepping through the threshold and making her way towards the back of the tavern and up the stairs that led up to the rooms.
Many of the doors had been ripped off of their hinges or blown apart by ransacking pirates but thankfully, the tiny closet door at the end of the hall had remained overlooked and untouched. She ducked through the door way and took the stairs that led up to the attic room that she and her mother shared.
It was a tiny room, hardly bigger than the pantry in the Governor's mansion, with one mattress shoved against the far wall, a trunk and a wash basin in the corner. A tiny window allowed a few rays of light to filter into the room, illuminating the dust floating in the air. Molly crossed the room in two steps and opened the trunk, rifling through the contents.
Her father's old cloths lay at the very bottom of the trunk, folded carefully and worn soft with use. The shirt was riddled with stitches and the pants had a patch on the left knee, courtesy of her mother. The wool coat was faded, more gray than blue now, and the wide brimmed hat was fraying at the edges.
Molly changed quickly, moving with a calm determination. She was taller than he was then, and he was a little broader around the shoulders. The pants made it just past her knees and the coat hung awkwardly about her shoulders, but it would have to do. Her breasts were small enough that she wouldn't have to bind them and the shirt was large enough that they remained hidden. It was her hair that was the real problem. It was far too long to allow her to pass as a man, falling down to the small of her back when she unpinned it.
She used her father's shaving razor to cut her hair, pulling it over her shoulder and hardly even hesitating as she sliced the strawberry curls at her collar. She dropped the chunk of hair into the washbasin, watching the ringlets coil at the bottom. Her mother would have a fit when she could see her now.
The thought made her pause. Could she really leave her mother behind without even a goodbye? And for what? What could she possibly do that a Naval Officer with a fleet of ships at his command couldn't?
The answer came to her all too easily, but as she stared at the remains of her hair she knew she had already made her decision. She couldn't leave Elizabeth to her fate. Not if there was a small chase that she could do something to help.
She tied her hair back at the nape of her neck with one of her mother's cotton ribbons and pulled the hat over her head, using the brim to cover the bandage on her head. She looked at herself in the tiny mirror hanging over the wash basin, hardly recognizing the narrow face that looked back at her. It was like she had put on another's skin, like the brother she never had. She grinned despite herself, feeling lighter than she had in years.
Glancing over her shoulder at the room that she and her mother shared all her life.
"Sorry mum," she whispered to the empty room, before ducking back out the door. All she could do was hope her mother would understand when she saw her again.
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